Ye Ol' Town
by Reallybored2
Summary: The entire town of Sunnydale ends up in the Firefly Universe.


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Disclaimer: Seriously, I own nothing here. _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ and _Firefly_ belong to Joss Whedon and his bunch.

This story is inspired and loosely based on S. M. Stirling's _'Island In The Sea Of Time_', Eric Flint's '_1632_', and TtH's own, Diresquirrel's _'Every Silver Lining Has Its Cloud._'.

This version can really be considered a first draft. You may consider it too long and not interesting enough, but I'll try to do better with the upcoming chapter.

Oh, and Wilkins is only invulnerable within the hundred days leading up to his Ascension. This is years before that takes place, so he's only a dark mage at this point and killable.

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The entire town of Sunnydale ends up in the Firefly Universe.

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Ye Ol' Town

Prologue:

Sunnydale, California in the good ol' U. S. of A. The town was, like most things in America, fairly new-Nearly a hundred years old, but it was still an address memorized by hordes of demons and monsters in many, many dimensions. Created by a dark mage on a hellmouth just for them, it was easily considered a relatively nice spot of hell on earth. A good place for a demon or monster to visit, and snack on or sacrifice a human or two. The list of attractions could include a visiting hellgod-If they were sharp enough to spot the visiting deity.

Yep, a nice enough corrupted piece of ground, where a demon or monster could go and enjoy being themselves-A real party town with lots of Happy Meals On Legs.

At least, up until the Slayer came to town.

Then the good times came to a predictably screeching, screaming halt: Everyone thought the little blond was another temporary irritant; like most of her kind, dead within a few months. But, the amazing little blond refused to yield to normal expectations and kept on living! Sure, they had high hopes for the Master . . .A penny ante operator, but with the prophecy and all, most felt their blond slayer problems would end in pieces, upon his bloody claws. Who in the infernal dimensions would have guessed a last minute save by a mortal? A young and babbling mortal idiot, at that? Of course he was heroic, but all he proved was just how screwed up things could get when Free Will dipped in its hand and took a turn at things.

Short and long, the Master dead and the blond off to a carefree summer vacation. It took as long as her return for new, contingency plans to rise up in the place of the plans made for the Master's anticipated opening of the Hellmouth. Of course, Miss California Sunshine made mistakes-Oh, grand, spectacular ones! Take for instance, the one she made when she turned seventeen: she slept with an ensouled vampire and released his soul into the Ether, allowing one fourth of the legendary Scourge of Europe a pass to the Hellmouth. Strangely enough the only one really happy to see "Daddy" was the mad vampire seer, Drusilla. Everyone else was plotting ways and means of getting rid of the wanker-High at the top of that list was his own grandchilde, Spike.

The Great Hair Gelled One proved again to be a walking signpost for stupid-Instead, of killing the girl, or turning the girl, or even running away from the girl he decided to play with her. And with each nasty little hit-and-run shot raised the temperature and helped a shocked slayer to shake herself off and rise up to the necessary degree of pissed off and ready and willing to dust a vicious fool of a vampire.

With all the fun, demonic and destructive toys buried in and around town, useful for teasing and playing with the little slayer, Acathla seemed like moronic overkill to most people with working brain cells. But vampires are reanimated corpses. Dead bodies, dead brain cells, no real heavy thinking in sight.

Acathla was a demon with a great big mouth, capable of sucking the entire World into Hell. That final deep breathing exercise was put on indefinite hold, when a Power turned him into stone. The Rules being Rules, there had to be a catch, some way of waking up Acathla and allowing him to complete that final breath. And Deadboy was just the vampire to find that catch.

Everyone take note-Time was the Joker in the pack. An unnoticed moment or second flowing away, not considered important until someone falls short and desperately needs that extra moment or second.

Xander was a good boy that night. Delivered the entire message to the Slayer, without the pause caused by an internal debate on whether to give her the whole message or not. Buffy fought Angelus and kept the snarling, rabid animal at bay waiting for Willow's spell to take effect, and give her back her lover: all the while Acathla's mouth widened and widened. As for Willow, a lingering nurse caused the delay; all that while, Willow's energies were ebbing away. And when the time to enact the spell came, Willow's body had had enough and shut down. Leaving the novice witch unconscious for nearly a day.

There comes a time when it is obvious something has failed, and Angelus's vamped out face was a sure sign of failure. With a resigned sob, Buffy renewed her attack and pushed her sword through the fiend's chest and swiftly kicked him in the stomach, hard enough to send him flying straight into the darkness of the portal. Even as the howling creature disappeared into the portal, Buffy knew it was not going be enough-She had waited too long. Her selfish hope had condemned the World.

Panting and staring into the black maw of the demon, in horror and despair, while gusts of debris-laden air rushed pass her into the growing portal, Buffy had a momentary clear idea. She unhesitatingly clawed at her wrists, with knife sharp nails, opening her flesh. Blood, slayer blood, spilled out and bathed the floor. Blood, it's always about the blood, Buffy thought, as she ran into the portal, jumping in with arms outstretched.

The Slayer is a being of Power. Immense power gathered through time and generations. Slayer generations-girls with lives that were measured in eight to twelve month length of time, if they are lucky. When the slayer died, her memories, and experiences, and power went on to the next girl down the line. While their prey remained in a stationary level of development, dead things unable to advance or evolve, the slayers adapted, evolved and climbed from strength to strength.

Buffy Anne Summers, the inheritor of those lives and power, acted on instinct. In the Void, Power radiated off of her. She softly chanted, "Sunnydale, California. Sunnydale, California. Sunnydale, California."; her will never faltering, even as Acathla tore and pounded at her. If the doorway was too big to close, then how about diverting it? Instead of an actual hell dimension, what about diverting it somewhere else safer for human life?

Outside Acathla's Power spread out miles out into the hills and desert; snagging cookie cutter communities, planes in mid air, ships out at sea; traveling out on the highways cars, buses, trucks were caught by Acathla's Power. Farms, large and small; orchards, vineyards, cattle feeding pens, as well as a large variety and quantity of food animals-One and all were snatched by Acathla.

Outwards Acathla spread tendrils of energy and-Abruptly got yanked to a stop! Impossible! Yet, as hard as Acathla pulled and strained, there was no farther advance possible. If anything, a tug back, slowly and steadily, began the reverse avalanche. If Acathla could have howled in frustration and rage he would have. Instead, he grasped tightly everything he had touch, pulling it all back into the Void. Oh, wait! What was this? The destination was not what he had chosen! But that was the least of his problems . . .Outside, Sunnydale and hundreds of miles of land and ocean were torn away and switched with the destination site's own matter. Worse for Acathla, not everything was being allowed through-Demons, vampires, and any assortment of dark creatures and tools, were forcefully left behind. A vampire taking a bath was ejected out of his bathtub, and was last seen naked, soapy and flying high into the night sky, while his suds filled bathtub disappeared into the portal.

Slayer and Acathla fought for control; concentrated energies stabbed and bunched through the sky and into the already weakened and thinned continental plate. The Earth rebelled at the abuse and sent a river of magma straight up into the offending sore on its surface! A moment before it reached open air, the Slayer screamed her victory and snatched away her prize to a safer place, farther away in time and space then imaginable to the Humans she was saving.

The ground shook and liquefied, dropping a sleeping Acathla down into an ocean of magma, where he disappeared with a slurping sound. Sunnydale and its buildings had disappeared, with some exceptions-The Slayer's filter not allowing contaminated structures to follow with the rest of the town. One of those exceptions was the mayor's mansion; within its unclean walls, Richard Wilkins had enough time to utter one surprised, "Well, gosh!" before being engulfed and consumed by magma.

As fast as Spike was driving, neither he nor Drusilla was able to make it to safety. "Oh, bollocks!" were Spikes last known words before dusting-Drusilla never regained consciousness.

Ripples of destruction flared out beyond Sunnydale's immediate vicinity: L. A., San Francisco, San Diego, San Jose shook like rats in a terrier's jaws. Hills flattened, hills grew; roads and highways buckled and tore like tissue; diverted rivers flooded dry areas. Dams and levees broke, while entire hills slide down into valleys burying houses and communities under them. Wild fires flared into hungry life, blacking miles of dry scrubland. Out in the ocean, ripples of water hit land as devastating tsunamis, scouring clean entire coastal communities within minutes of hitting.

The President declared a state of emergency and thousands of National Guard troops poured into the state of California. The nation still numbed and stunned by the death of over a million people, and by the sudden and unexpected birth of a volcano, where the little town of Sunnydale, California used to be, mobilized to help.

Faith Lehane made it as far as Mexico City; the master vampire Kakistos tracked her there. And shortly afterwards, a new slayer was Called.

For Xander and everyone else, Time momentarily deserted them. When it slipped back into their lives, Xander ran into the warehouse and saw no sign of either the fugly stone Acathla or the greasy haired Deadboy. Both demons were gone. But Buffy, Buffy was on the floor bleeding and-and transparent! Xander rushed towards her and tried to pick her up, but his hands encountered nothing at all, nothing substantial. Xander stared at Buffy in horror. Then, abruptly, Buffy form became sharper and brighter. Xander smelled the sharp, coppery odor of her blood, put out a finger to touch her, and met with resistance. Gasping with relief, Xander gathered her up to his chest and clasped her in a close hug. She was hurt! Xander remembered, gently he put her down again and noting the main injuries were her wrists, he tore strips from the bottom of his shirt and bound Buffy's wounds with them.

He had to get her to the hospital! Xander picked Buffy up, and carried her in his arms, outside. Then he stumbled and almost dropped Buffy. In open mouth amazement, Xander stared at the _two_ moons floating in the night sky! Xander stood there holding Buffy, in a state of shock and disbelief. Xander Harris, life long resident and survivor of Sunnyhell, California froze in total poleaxed amazement-Until a soft moan yanked his attention back to the bleeding girl in his arms.

"Later," Xander murmured, later was a good time to figure things out. Buffy came first. And, with that resolution in place, Xander rushed away in the direction of the hospital.

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Yeah . . .could have been shorter.

Thanks for reading it, though. And goodbye!


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